


An Idiot's Guide to a Successful Love Confession in Two Words or Less

by SaltyWords (agent4hire22)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Love Confessions, M/M, Post 15x07, Season 15, gratuitous use of the mixtape as a plot device, important relationships are complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21952603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/pseuds/SaltyWords
Summary: There was no fixing this with an apology. Not when the real issue was all the shit Dean hadn’t said, rather than the few things he had.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 247
Kudos: 1651
Collections: My personal destiel favs, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	An Idiot's Guide to a Successful Love Confession in Two Words or Less

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as a 15x07 coda, but then I fell into this whole Led Zeppelin unnecessary-research-rabbit hole, and here we are. But, hey, I haven't written anything in a year, so I might as well post this, right? This fic does not take 15x08 into account at all.
> 
> *Bonus points to anyone who listens to Led Zeppelin while reading this.  
> **Extra bonus points if that happens to include the live '73 concert version of Stairway to Heaven (which does not actually feature in this story. It's just magic realized on stage, okay?)
> 
> *Warning for art included. Art is mine.

“I’ll never stop being impressed with the way he makes his guitar talk.”

Dean blinked, suddenly aware that he’d zoned out. He turned from the paint-chipped motel window and empty, rain-sodden parking lot to look back at Cas. Settled now in the middle of the right queen bed, faded flower comforter barely holding its own in the dim room light. Three hours they’d been holed up in that motel without a word, and, apparently, Dean still couldn’t keep up. 

“You what?” he asked halfheartedly. But Cas didn’t react. He had both earbuds in and eyes on his lap as he turned something over in his hands. He wasn’t listening. The comment was for the empty room, apparently. Not Dean. 

_And why would it be?_

They’d barely said two words to each other since Cas had come home again. And even then, Cas’ adamant declaration (in not so many words) that he wasn’t gonna give his life up just because Dean wanted to crawl up his own ass and die in existential nihilism had merely earned him a “Fine, whatever” instead of the apology he was due. _Because…_

There was no fixing this with an apology. Not when the real issue was Dean and all the shit he _hadn’t said_ rather than the few things he had. But that’d only happened because it was impossible to say, _“Okay, listen. You’re right. These things I’ve been blaming you for, they’re not your fault. The real problem is me. It’s me, and the fact that I fell in love with you at some point along the way”_ But—

_“I can’t let that mean anything because this whole Chuck thing has screwed me up so royally, I can’t even be sure who I am anymore”_ And—

_“Even if I knew, I have no idea if you’d ever want… that”_ Except— 

_“On the off chance you did, you still gotta understand, I don’t know how to do this; this ‘you an’ me’ thing, because I’ve got one foot in the closet, and I’ve tried like hell to get it out, but I don’t know if I can, so there’s no way I’d land perfect 10s in every social situation. You gotta know, I don’t want to hurt you like that, but I’d probably hurt you like that”_ Because— 

_“Truth is, I’m more scared to screw us up than I am to lose you”_ Except— 

_“That’s a fucking lie because I’m so goddamn terrified to lose you, Cas— ”_

So, now they were at an impasse. No solution in sight. The air between them so stuffed up with _un-said’s,_ that they were practically choking on ‘em. The quiet of every room and stilted space in every conversation highlighted it. Amplified it: 

_“You, uh, talk to the sheriff?”_

_“Yes, he suspects the mortician.”_

_“Well, that means it’s clearly the Sheriff.”_

_“I… agree.”_

_“Then, great. We agree.”_

_“Good.”_

_“Great.”_

One too many hunts like that, and, pretty soon, their relationship was gonna be dripping, bloody; nothing left except knotted muscles as good as stone. Dean didn’t want that. But, no matter how many times he tried to fix it—in person, in prayer. Hell, over voicemail— _just start simple: I WAS WRONG—_ nothing ever stuck, because it was all too big. Or Dean was too small. 

_No,_ he scrubbed a hand down his face. _What it is, is too fucking honest_. 

_God,_ he just needed to breathe—

He retreated to his phone, the internet. Anything to distract him from the intrusive thoughts. But the pile of potential case tabs was as fruitful as his emotional spinning, and he found himself staring at Sam’s last text, instead.

_Still stuck in Eddyville. Eileen and I are probably gonna crash for a bit before driving back. Sorry to strand you._

He wasn’t _—sorry_. 

Dean didn’t have to read between the lines to know that.That bastard brother of his always had a knack for knowing when to bail, and anyone with eyes could see that Dean and Cas were taking on water; it’s just that Sam had no right bringing Baby into it. 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed his eyes. Maybe the rain had let up. He could walk to the nearest bar, find a stool to rent until his brother showed mercy and brought back his wheels. Or, if not, maybe there was an unattended, mid-nineties beater he could just fucking hotwire and drive off the nearest cliff; avoid this whole damn mess altogether. 

_The motel lot’s empty, but money says the nearest Gas n’ Sip has one—_

“Are you alright?”

Dean unburied from his hands. Looked up, surprised by the hit of blue coming at him from the bed. “What?”

“You look like you have a headache.”

“Wow, two sentences in a row,” Dean quipped from behind his fingers, instead of answering. “Must be my birthday.” It was a mistake, _obviously_.

Cas’ expression dipped, dark clouds rolling back in. “Never mind,” he huffed quietly.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. If we’re not careful, we might accidentally have one of those things I’ve been hearing about. What are they called—? Conversations?” 

“I spoke earlier. You’re the one using your phone to avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Dean lied. “It just ain’t much of a conversation-starter if you don’t talk loud enough for the people in the room to hear you.”

The muscle at Cas’ temple jumped, teeth tapping. He looked away. “It wasn’t important,” he mumbled before pushing an earbud back in. He poked a button on the top of that old iPod— _no, wait. Walkman?_ —and sank back into the propped pillows, stiff.

Dean went back into his hands. _Oh, for fuck’s sake, you moron. Why are you like this? You already dig graves for a living, you gotta dig one for this relationship, too?_

He couldn’t keep doing this; watching himself pull Cas under while he, himself, struggled to swim— _Struggled to connect._ He had to put space between them. And, if Cas didn’t want to leave, then that meant Dean was gonna have to. It was better than burying them both.

He slid out of his chair, grabbed his coat off the back. But when he headed for the door, his brain finally— _finally—_ snagged on the antiquated technology in Cas’ hands. It stopped him in his tracks, hand on the knob. _Why a Walkman?_ There was literally _no reason_ he should have it; not when he had his phone and a sea of streaming options parked at his knee. They’d gone through Youtube together a time or two; Cas knew about it. Itunes. Spotify… 

_No_ , he was listening to something very specific. _Something on a cassette_ — 

_I’ll never stop being impressed with the way he makes his guitar talk._

Dean’s stomach twisted as he looked back, caught the lightning-quick flit of Cas’ eyes going back into his lap. It was cause enough to chase the hunch over to the edge of the bed, stand there awkwardly as Cas pointedly ignored him. Hands wrapping tighter to cover the tape deck’s front window. 

Dean reached for it anyway, waited for him to give it up. When he finally did, Dean picked it up, turned it over. Confirmed his suspicions with that familiar white label and handwritten scrawl: _Deans top 13 Zepp Traxx._

_Well, fuck—_

He dared a glance at Cas, and the guarded one he got in return was like a scream of confirmation in the quiet. It lit the little fire in Dean’s chest that’d been trying to die and put his heart in his ears.

_Well… Fuck._

Maybe this whole thing wasn’t as complicated as he’d thought. 

He looked the cassette again, watched the ribbon spin. If he remembered right— _and he did_ —Cas was currently at the boot end of _Can’t Quit You,_ which meant Dean only had to roll past _Levee_ to get to where he needed to be— _Where they did._ And if he knew anything, it was how to find a song on this tape. 

_The stop button, first. Then, over to fast-forward. Hold for three. And stop, again._ The next pause was the one Dean took trying to rein in his pulse. The damn thing had suddenly grown so sentient, it was about to crawl out his throat and run. 

He looked up, clinging a little too hard to the player, and whatever face he must’ve been making was reflecting through Cas like a funhouse mirror. Stark worry knitting the lines in his brow and pooling the room’s shadows. Dean breathed— or, remembered to. His breath was so stuffed up in his shoulders, he had to physically lower them.

He sat on the edge of the bed, still facing the kitchenette, but angled enough toward Cas for Cas’ hands to ball into nervous fists. Dean held the tape deck up, eyebrows raising with it. “Zepp’s always important,” he said quietly. 

Cas swallowed. Chewed his cheeks as if he were thinking of all the ways this was about to backfire before he relented with a, “Is it?”

Dean checked the topography of his teeth. Waited for that little voice to talk him out of it, but when it didn’t, he took his leap of faith. Leaned in just enough to pluck one of the buds from Cas’ ear, nearly thrown by all of Cas’ reckless heat. “Yeah,” he said. 

Cas didn’t move. His eyes, silently following, but not backing away as Dean borrowed it for himself. 

And pressed play. 

The last three seconds of silence at the end of _Levee_ came on with a familiar tape crackle before giving way to the slinking guitar and steady drumbeat of _Since I’ve Been Loving You_ ; right on the mark. 

Dean’s heart crawled into his throat again and he told himself this was gonna be okay. He reminded himself that he didn’t have to say anything— Didn’t have to do anything; just let the song talk. He closed his eyes and let the bluesy melody melt into him. Listened as it took its time building before the silky, mournful lyrics from Robert Plant sauntered in:

WORKIN’ FROM SEVEN TO ELEVEN EVERY NIGHT

REALLY MAKES LIFE A DRAG

I DON’T THINK THAT’S RIGHT

I’VE REALLY BEEN THE BEST OF FOOLS

I DID WHAT I COULD, YEAH

COURSE I LOVE YOU, BABY

HOW I LOVE YOU, DARLING

HOW I LOVE YOU, BABY…

As the song moved toward the refrain, Dean realized he was mouthing along. He cracked an eye, caught Cas watching him. His expression, soft now, sincere. Something equally mournful to it. So, Dean wagged a playful eyebrow, loosened a little more with the lyrics, swaying to the rhythm—

BABY, SINCE I’VE BEEN LOVING YOU, YEAH

I’M ABOUT TO LOSE MY WORRIED MIND...

He directed Plant’s next punctuational AH YEEEAH to Cas, rather than the room. Dressed it up loose and friendly. _Easy._ The solemnity in Cas’ posture cracked and he relented with a little smile. Nothing big enough to write home about, but something to lift the shadows none-the-less. The moment mingled with Page’s guitar, the musical bridge carrying them over all the animosity they’d been stewing in like it was nothing; over and done, just like that. 

He pointed to Cas as the second verse came around. “Show me what you got,” he said.

“Uh, no.”

“Oh, yes. You gotta—“

The lyrics picked up without them: EVERYBODY TRYING TO TELL ME— Plant started, and Dean shamelessly pouted his bottom lip. Immediately caught an eye roll from Cas as he accepted his fate, mouthing: THAT YOU DIDN’T MEAN ME NO GOOD— with little-to-no theatrical enthusiasm.

_Fuck, he knows it—_ Dean smiled. Really, actually, _felt it;_ a toothy grin ripping through his face and coming back at him tenfold in the blooming smile lines by Cas’ eyes. Dean playfully shoved Cas’ shoulder as he stole the next line for himself with an animated, open-hand slap to his own chest. 

I’VE BEEN TRYING, he insisted through Plant’s vocals.

LORD, LEMME TELL YOU

LEMME TELL YOU I REALLY DID THE BEST I COULD

I’VE BEEN WORKING FROM SEVEN TO ELEVEN EVERY NIGHT…

Dean played it up. Would’ve felt pretty stupid for it, if Cas hadn’t looked so damn invested in the show. The way he watched, enamored with Dean’s playful stupidity, even after all this time. _All they’d been through._ And, as the song rounded its second crooning refrain, that little fire in Dean’s chest lit brighter. 

This was all surprisingly easy. Though, if Dean was being honest, things between him and Cas were always easy when he let them be. 

_So, he let them be._

SINCE I’VE BEEN LOVING YOU… Plant began and Dean dragged a finger from his own chest. Tapped lightly over Cas’ heart. I’M ABOUT TO LOSE MY WORRIED MIND. 

That soft expression he’d fostered in Cas suddenly faltered and fell away, surprise or disbelief taking its place. 

_Yep, that one landed—_

Dean’s pulse skipped as Cas searched him, maybe looking for a tell. Proof that he was misinterpreting or misunderstanding. Anything to explain away this thing of Dean’s that was so frustratingly, indirectly direct. The doubt crept in like poison alongside the melody. Dean could see it. He knew Cas didn’t have enough emotional padding left to wade through the vague uncertainty of this game. So, Dean quit hedging. The time for that was gone and done. There was only one way through this now, and it was either Dean making a complete, needy fool of himself, or actually learning what the word _happy_ meant. 

He swallowed the knot in his throat. “It’s true,” he said, testing a thumb over the turn of Cas’ jaw. He meant for it to be light and quick. Just something to build on. But he was too weak for it. With the mental permission given, the vulnerable gesture turned into a runaway train. He buried in the crook of Cas’ neck, instead. Felt Cas’ sharp breath and the flex of his fingers against the back of Dean’s elbows as Cas caught him.

In Dean’s nightmares, this was the part where Cas pulled away. Pushed Dean back, horrified. _Left for good—_ But this wasn’t a nightmare.

Cas held onto him. Hands slipping up Dean’s arms to spread across his back, large and warm. Neither of them moving, maybe both of them too afraid to. Only Page’s solo and Dean’s racing heart left to string this moment together with the playful one that came before it. 

“Dean…” Cas’ voice came on warm and muffled, a little concern to tint the edges purple. So Dean picked himself up. Only got as far as to bury his forehead in Cas’ temple before he couldn’t back away anymore. He was glued there by the heat. The energy. Cas turned toward him, and the surprised open-lipped “Oh” fell from his mouth as their noses brushed. As Cas huffed, swallowed.

Dean wasn’t gonna kiss him.

No, this was supposed to be step one in a hundred part series of flushing this thing out. Getting things right again. _But…_

Cas’ eyes bumped up, collided with Dean’s. No hesitation there. No uncertainty— 

SAID I’VE BEEN CRYING, YEAH

OH MY TEARS, THEY FELL LIKE RAIN… 

—It was out of his hands.

Dean kissed him, soft and slow. That rogue hand of his finding its way up to Cas’ jawline again. And Cas leaned into it. Met Dean, firm. Hungry. Worked the kiss with just enough pressure to make it feel urgent. 

_Fucking, necessary._

Dean opened and let Cas taste him. The electric energy he was dragging came on like sweet static. Suddenly, Dean wasn’t close enough anymore. He got up, threw a knee over Cas’ legs, and crawled into his lap. Page’s guitar picked up pace through the last refrain, but cassette tape karaoke was over now. They weren’t listening.

Cas’ hands slipped up the back of Dean’s shirt. Slid onto his bare skin like they always belonged there. It was suddenly, painfully, obvious they were about to make quick work of a long evening because this was the runaway train Dean had felt coming. And he was ready, on the tracks. 

He got up on his knees again, took off his shirt. Cas stole the opportunity to kiss Dean’s stomach, mouth, wet. Fingers toying at his belt. 

The world slowed down again as Dean tried to corral the sudden burst of heat in his gut, the twinge of shame that bubbled up with it. It came out as a sharp breath and an embarrassingly hot face. Cas paused, hands opting to rest at Dean’s hips as he looked up. “Too fast?” he asked. 

Out of the million times, Dean had run this scenario through his head, never once had Cas been the one asking that. It had always been Dean. After all, Cas was less _experienced_. Less _physical._ Less… _unsure,_ Dean realized. 

_It’s a helluva thing, knowing what you want._ And there was some significant foundation for Dean in that.

He sank down into Cas’ lap, brushed a curl of hair from Cas’ temple. Cas’ expression, soft enough to melt him. All this time, Dean had been treating the guy with kid gloves, and it turned out, Dean was the one needing them. 

Maybe he should’ve realized it sooner. 

The important part was, Cas had. 

“No,” Dean admitted. They’d both lost their earbuds at some point, but the quiet of the room wasn’t as unnerving as he expected it would be. He kissed Cas again, breathed him in. Dragged fingers through the clipped hair at the nape of his neck. Chasing the goosebumps he culled down the sides of it. Got in close to his ear and added, “Show me what you got.”

Cas kissed his collarbone. His chest. Dragged lips up and planted them at Dean’s neck as Dean raised his chin to let him in. Dean breathed. Found a handhold in the muscle on Cas’ shoulders. Let that fire in his gut build up again, spread. 

He kissed Cas hard. More teeth this time as he caught Cas’ bottom lip, wrestling his tie loose. He tossed it. Started in on the buttons. Got the first three unwrapped before an impatient groan fell out of him. “Too many fucking buttons,” he griped, and Cas’ wandering hands came off. He undid his cuffs with a quick thumb at both wrists before tugging the shirt up over his head. Came out the other side with some pretty significant bed head and a mile of bare skin before tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discards. 

Dean resisted the urge but made the joke anyway. “Like magic,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “And for my next trick—”

Cas suddenly bumped Dean’s hips up, scooped him over backward. Got him flat on the mattress as he curled over Dean in one smooth motion. Dean’s stomach went in his throat. His hands, on his own thighs, as Cas pushed in between his legs. “Shit,” Dean blurted as Cas buried a hot kiss into his neck. 

Cas came back up, little smile painting in beside the gorgeous flush he already had going. “I’m sorry, did that scare you?”

_Fuck. Me._ Dean had to swallow his heart too. Dick, straining in his jeans. “No,” he lied. “Just— People don’t usually throw me.”

“I suppose that means I’m not most people, then,” Cas said, expression rolling dark. He dragged a knuckle down Dean’s stomach, slow. Eyes careful. He fingered Dean’s belt again and waited. 

This time, Dean didn’t stop him. “I guess it does,” he agreed, instead. He rolled his hips, needy for the touch. Hooked a hand at the back of Cas’ head and pulled him down, kissed him hard. Tasted that reckless buzz on his skin like it was something Dean could bottle. The feel of Cas’ tongue. The heat of his breath.

Cas pulled Dean out. Slipped a firm fist down him, and Dean groaned. Nose dragging through the rough burn of Cas’ chin. He fumbled for Cas’ belt, too. Pulled Cas in closer with his legs when Cas unintentionally backed his hips away. 

He took a moment to feel the shape Cas made inside his slacks. The turn of his dick as it struggled to fit behind his zipper. Dean slipped a hand over it, felt as Cas crumbled above him, breath a stilted shudder as their foreheads came together. Dean hooked a hand at the curve of Cas’ neck. “Kiss me,” he said, pulling Cas down. Pulling Cas out. 

Cas did; a hot, wet kiss, less coordinated than he probably meant it to be, as Dean rolled their hips together. Felt the slip of Cas’ heady precome as their dicks slot side by side. Cas buried his face in Dean’s chest, fingers stretching to grab them both at once. Wrist, rolling, slow, with Dean’s rhythm, then picking up the pace. 

Another rush of heat slapped Dean in the face. This one, rolling down his throat and into his groin. The bed creaked. Dean didn’t have to pretend like the neighbors weren’t listening because he didn’t give a damn if they were. He dug fingers in Cas’ back, breathing the sweat on his skin. 

Dean came; a long and stretching orgasm that felt more like finding home again after being lost than it did the pop, party favor surprise he usually got. He groaned through it, Cas’ breath in his ear. Cas’ weight, grounding him. “That was the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever heard,” Cas hummed, voice like dark silk. Then, “Fuck,” as he followed Dean over. Hot mess pouring over Dean’s spent dick and onto his stomach. Sliding off his hip as Dean flexed. 

Dean pulled a free hand through Cas’ hair. “There it is,” he urged. Cas huffed in his ear, his bed-bound hand digging into the mattress. Dean kissed his throat. His jaw. His lips, as he centered again.

Cas buried the last one in Dean’s temple. “You know I love you, too,” he whispered tapping a finger over Dean’s heart. 

An easy quiet found them. Zep’s music still perceptible, playing through the earbuds somewhere. Dean didn’t know what song. 

He wasn’t gonna cry.

But, he had a feeling that was out of his hands, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Really, I was just curious if I could successfully write a love confession like this. How'd I do?  
> [I’m winchester-reload on tumblr](https://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/), so come say hi.


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